<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>now i just keep you warm by lilibetpride</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095902">now i just keep you warm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibetpride/pseuds/lilibetpride'>lilibetpride</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, just husbands being silly and in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:48:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibetpride/pseuds/lilibetpride</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale spend their first Christmas together as a couple.</p><p>Fic written for the Winter Wonderland Zine.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Winter Wonderland Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>now i just keep you warm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley, in general, likes the spirit of Christmas. </p><p>It’s the most demonic thing one can think of. A religious holiday almost completely forgotten in favour of exchanging gifts, getting drunk and fighting with family. It’s the busiest time of year down in Hell, and Crowley barely has to lift a finger to secure souls for dear old Luci.</p><p>Not that he has to do that anymore, obviously, as it’s been two years and a half since Armageddon had been averted. But, old habits die hard and all that.</p><p>Oh, well, why lie about it? Crowley <em> loves </em>Christmas. He loves Christmas movies, Christmas songs, loves watching people come together for a party dedicated to one of the most amazing humans he ever met. He loves the decorations and the drinks and the laughter of children dreaming Santa Claus is a real man and not just a very drunken mistake by Aziraphale. </p><p>The only problem is — Aziraphale hates Christmas.</p><p>No matter how many times Crowley makes him sit through movies about the joy of Christmas — Aziraphale particularly likes the Scrooge McDuck version of A Christmas Carol — he seethes with rage at the sight of green, red and white covering the whole of London. Over the years, Crowley has learned that Aziraphale likes to spend Christmas Eve <em> and </em> Christmas holed up in his bookshop, engrossed in a book and completely oblivious to the world.</p><p>And so, for years, Crowley has spent Christmas away from London. </p><p>As a general rule, demons run hot — hellfire and sulfur fuel in their veins. But Crowley is not a normal demon, and so he gets extremely cold during winter. And Christmastime is always worse, not because it’s particularly cold, but because his traitorous heart had the need to constantly remind him of the perfect Christmas image: Aziraphale and him, cuddling under a blanket, sharing hot cocoa — or something stronger — and by some demonic miracle a mistletoe materialises and <em> oh it wouldn’t do to go against tradition, huh angel?  </em></p><p>Latin America is always incredibly hot during Christmas, and has the best parties, so for decades it’s been his spot for spending the holidays. The year the Antichrist had been born, he started drinking in Venezuela and woke up the next day on top of the Cristo Redentor with a typical <em> chullo, </em> a Chilean flag and a half-drunk glass of Fernet. He couldn’t remember how he got from Venezuela to Peru to Chile to Argentina and then to Brazil in one night, but Hell didn’t seem to care — and Aziraphale was very happy to see him arrive with <em> pão de queijo </em>.</p><p>But, this year, things were different.</p><p>The world was in the middle of a pandemic, for a start. And it wouldn’t do for him to go around the world. That wasn’t demonic, that was stupid.</p><p>And, most importantly, he and Aziraphale were — <em> together </em> together. As in kissing, holding each other, and saying ‘I love you’ <em> together </em>.</p><p>He woke up the first days of December, and discovered Aziraphale drinking tea in his kitchen. Before he could recover from shock, Aziraphale strode towards him and declared his feelings. To this day, weeks after, he still gets confused as to who and how but they ended up kissing and going to the bookshop together to get outstandingly drunk. </p><p>Somehow, despite their shared history, this time Aziraphale asked him what he wanted to do for Christmas. As if Crowley hadn’t spent every holiday as far away from him as possible to not have to see him be utterly miserable. </p><p>He even convinced Crowley of helping him put a tree on the bookshop — with the excuse that anything they could do to bring holiday cheer in a year so depressingly uncheerful would be welcomed by people passing on the street. </p><p>The night before Christmas, Crowley ordered take-out from the little italian shop Aziraphale loved, and they settled on the couch to watch Scrooge McDuck be taken for a ride with the Three Ghosts. Crowley was more of a The Grinch fan, but he couldn’t possibly say no to Aziraphale’s big puppy eyes.</p><p>The movie ended, and so did their food. Aziraphale decided they needed to drink hot cocoa before going to bed — <em>together, </em>they went to bed <em>together, </em>Crowley still couldn’t believe it — and left the little living room above the bookshop to tinker around the kitchen.</p><p>The quiet of the night was only disturbed by Aziraphale’s humming and the soft crackle of the fire in his chimney. Crowley sighed, burying himself in the blanket Aziraphale had knitted for him — black and gold, messy and incredibly big, oddly smelling like cookies — and staring at the black screen.</p><p>“I’m afraid you look a bit ridiculous, my dear,” Aziraphale appeared from behind the couch, holding two big steaming mugs of hot cocoa, “I can’t believe I didn’t realise how big the blanket was getting.”</p><p>Crowley smiled. “And I can’t believe that, of all the hobbies on Earth, you decided to take up <em> knitting. </em>”</p><p>“It’s a lovely hobby, Crowley,” Aziraphale tsked, “and I needed to keep my hands busy! Lockdown was dreadfully long.” </p><p>“Most people, when faced with a lot of free time, <em> sleep. </em>”</p><p>“Well, my dear, I’m not <em> most people </em> ,” he huffed, “I’m not even <em> people! </em>”</p><p>Crowley snorted. Aziraphale passed him a hot cocoa mug. It was perfectly warm, not too hot — Aziraphale fretted over Crowley’s habit of drinking boiling hot drinks in one big gulp.</p><p>“Besides,” he continued, “that’s a lot coming from someone currently trying to drown himself in a <em> knitted blanket, </em> ” Crowley grunted, “ <em> and </em>a knitted sweater full of ducks.” </p><p>Crowley buried himself even deeper into the blanket, the only visible parts of himself being the top of his head and his hands, holding onto the mug. </p><p>“It’s cold,” Crowley mumbled, “besides, it’s very demonic — hogging all the warmth for myself.” </p><p>Aziraphale sat beside him, smiling. “Yes, dear, you look incredibly demonic right now, I’m shaking.” </p><p>“Well,” Crowley raised his head, trying to sound nonchalant about it, “if you’re shaking, maybe you can come here — i’ll warm you up.” </p><p>Aziraphale faked a shiver. “Now that you mention it… kind of cold, isn’t it?” </p><p>“Yeah, you should get in here, it wouldn’t do to get a cold.” </p><p>Being extra careful so he wouldn’t spill the mug, Crowley opened his arms. Aziraphale smiled, his eyes shining under the living room’s twinkling lights, and scooted over until he was as close as he possibly could without actually sitting <em> on </em>Crowley — not that he would have a problem with that. At all.</p><p>Crowley put his arm over Aziraphale’s shoulders, taking the blanket with him, enveloping them both. Aziraphale let out a content sigh, and sipped on his mug.</p><p>“Next year,” Crowley started, “I’m taking you somewhere hot for Christmas.”</p><p>He could practically see Aziraphale’s frown. “I quite like the wintertime aesthetic.”</p><p>“Oh, but angel, you haven’t lived until you’ve been to a Christmas party in Latin America, plus I know how much you like their wines.”</p><p>“Hm, I do enjoy a good Malbec.”</p><p>“You’ll like it, and maybe I won’t freeze to death — well, discorporation.”</p><p>“Shush, it’s not even that cold, you snake.”</p><p>They settled onto comfortable silence, drinking and watching the fire. There were still a few minutes left before Christmas, and Crowley was feeling sleepy already.</p><p>Aziraphale left his mug on the coffee table, and turned to look at Crowley in the eye. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Crowley raised an eyebrow. “For what?”</p><p>“For not spending Christmas with you — before.”</p><p>“We’re not exactly Christians, are we? And we used to spend Hanukkah together whenever we were in the same place.”</p><p>“Yes, but,” Aziraphale shook his head, “I know you love this holiday.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t exactly call it<em> love </em>—”</p><p>“Dearest, it’s just me.”</p><p>And Crowley softened.</p><p>“We have all the time in the world, angel,” he said, miracling the mug away to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, “we have plenty of Christmases to celebrate together.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes, melting into his touch. “I know, but still — it just reminds me so much of, well, <em> them. </em>”</p><p>Crowley smiled, even if Aziraphale didn’t see him. “That was an eventful night, wasn’t it?”</p><p>They chuckled together. “Miryam was a saint, I wouldn’t have let me anywhere near Yeshua after finding out about the whole renting-every-room-in-Bethlehem thing.”</p><p>“Well, you did help them get to Egypt, you saved them.” </p><p>Aziraphale goes quiet, his face falling. “I could’ve done more — it wasn’t enough,” Crowley opens his mouth, but Aziraphale continues, “I was never enough, was I?” </p><p>“Angel,” Crowley leans over to press a kiss against his forehead, “you were always more than enough — you were there for them, you helped them even when you had to keep your distance.” </p><p>“He was too young.” </p><p>“He accepted his fate, didn’t he? He was human, he made his choice.” </p><p>“Choice,” Aziraphale echoed, opening his eyes, “we all made our choices, didn’t we?” </p><p>Crowley felt his mouth go dry at the intensity of Aziraphale’s stare. “Y-yeah.” </p><p>“Just like I chose you,” Aziraphale continued, his voice above a whisper. He raised his hand to hold Crowley’s, to move it from his cheek so he could kiss his knuckles. “I love you, Crowley.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. Weeks of listening to Aziraphale say those words to him and it still leaves him breathless every single time. </p><p>“And I love you, Aziraphale,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss him. </p><p>Aziraphale kisses him back softly, lacing their fingers together on his lap. He has never felt warmer in the cold british winter. </p><p>The clock, lost somewhere behind them, strikes twelve. </p><p>Crowley parts, revelling in Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks, the way his gray eyes flutter open once again. </p><p>He smiles. “Merry Christmas, my angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale smiles back. “Merry Christmas, my love.”</p><p>“Should we get some champagne? Make a toast?” </p><p>There’s the telltale whoosh of a miracle. Aziraphale turns his eyes upwards, and Crowley follows him. </p><p>A mistletoe, hanging from the ceiling, right above their heads. </p><p>Crowley chuckles. “Where did that come from?” </p><p>Aziraphale tries to look innocent, but he’s toying with Crowley’s sweater in a clear <em> ‘get closer’ </em> sign. </p><p>“Oh, I have no idea,” Aziraphale shrugs, “but we can’t go against the law, I’m an angel, after all.”</p><p>“The law?” Crowley raises an eyebrow, “And which law is that?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s face gets even closer. “The one that says that you have to kiss me before I smite you.” </p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Indeed.” </p><p>“You’re ridiculous.” </p><p>Aziraphale huffed, but Crowley was already cradling his cheeks, leaning in and closing the almost nonexistent distance. </p><p>They both melt into the kiss. Aziraphale sneaks his hands under Crowley’s sweater, gripping onto his shirt, the warmth almost burning him in contrast with his natural cold. </p><p>Crowley’s back hits the couch’s armrest. With some manoeuvring, Aziraphale ends up settling between his legs, his head lying on Crowley’s chest. They’re both covered by the blanket, and the lights have dimmed, only the fire illuminating them. </p><p>“This is rather lovely,” Aziraphale sighs, “we should do it more often.” </p><p>“Kissing on the couch?” </p><p>“Celebrating.” </p><p>“Not a lot to celebrate this year, angel.” </p><p>“New Year’s just around the corner — we can get champagne instead of mistletoe.” </p><p>“Or both.” </p><p>“Or both.” </p><p>“And kiss at midnight, or we’ll be breaking the law.” </p><p>“Oh? Really?” </p><p>“Yeah — you don’t want to spend New Year in jail.”</p><p>“Then we must be law-abiding citizens, I’m afraid — it’s not like we’re ethereal and occult beings.” </p><p>“Nah, we’re just your typical London queer couple.” </p><p>Crowley yawns, his arms rubbing circles on Aziraphale’s back. </p><p>“Should we go to the bedroom?” Aziraphale lifts his head to watch him.</p><p>“M’too comfortable.” </p><p>“Your back will hurt.” </p><p>“M’a snake.”</p><p>Crowley has already closed his eyes, face relaxed and content. Aziraphale drops a kiss on his jaw, smiling to himself. He closes his eyes too, ready to follow Crowley into a peaceful and Christmassy sleep.</p><p>“Goodnight then, you wily snake.”</p><p>“Goodnight, angel.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>